I Love You, Dumb Ass
by inu382
Summary: Because, HONESTLY, Screw That Girl. Style, StanKyle, KyleStan [Oneshot]


I'm basically writing this to clear my head. I have a 50 page screenplay to finish and I'm stuck. This semester has been murder.

* * *

Twenty-one year old Kyle lay on his bed, relaxing. His phone sat on his pillow, beside his head. For days now, he and Stan had been texting back and forth. Stan had gone with his family to some Catholic retreat (pfft. _Catholics_) and that left Kyle alone for the week.

Sure, Kyle had hung out with Kenny, but Kenny was a weird bi freak who had published his entire list of fetishes online and encouraged everyone to read them. When they hung out, it was usually just Kenny trying to trick Kyle into sex.

Kyle was saving himself, _thank you very much_.

Kyle didn't even consider Cartman. The _one time_ they'd hung out alone in sixth grade, Cartman sold Kyle to Muslim radicals. Long story.

At this point, the only reason Kyle could stand living with Cartman was because Kenny and Stan lived with them and Cartman paid half the rent, what with Wendy basically living with the boys.

Kyle _would_ hang out with Wendy, but he was currently Not Speaking To Her, because she was a shrewd bitch who looked too deeply into things and had this awful habit of _being right all the fucking time_.

So, that left Kyle alone in his room, texting his only real friend (_Super_ best friend, even). Unfortunately, Stan had met someone at the retreat and wouldn't shut up about this girl.

_Dude, she's so hot._

_Dude, she's so smart!_

_Dude, her voice is like chocolate._

_Dude, she _loves_ my hair!_

_Dude, I think I'm in love._

That last one had hurt.

It was in the middle of this tirade that Kyle had finally snapped. He'd grabbed his iPhone and, in the sort of rage a Jew can achieve when he's recovering from a _killer_ hang over and Cartman fucking ate _all the damn waffles again_ and Wendy won't shut up about how much Stan means to him and Kenny keeps trying to get to you to try bondage because "it's so liberating, dude!" (and because, _honestly,_ Screw That Girl), Kyle replied:

I FUCKING LOVE YOU, DUMB ASS.

It was the most romantic Kyle had ever been. Even his favorite girlfriend, Red, had only gotten a, "I can mostly stand your company. But not all the time, because you won't shut up about clothes and I don't really care."

Stan had yet to reply and it worried Kyle. Did Stan hate him? Did Stan never want to see him again? Would Stan turn into a hardcore Catholic and start molesting little boys as a way to deal with his Kyle-related trauma?

Well, that last one was a bit far-fetched, but this _was_ South Park.

Kyle's only comfort was that the iMessage continued to read "Delivered." It meant he Stan hadn't read it yet—

Oh wait, he just read it.

"_Really, dude?"_

Kyle frowned.

SERIOUSLY, GUY. WHY THE FUCK WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS?

"_Remember that time Kenny stole your phone and sent me pictures of his dick?"_

FAIR ENOUGH. NO, IT'S KYLE. I LOVE YOU. LOTS. LIKE, FAG LOVE.

"_I'm touched."_

Kyle pouted. What the fuck, Stan? Wasn't there some unspoken rule about the confessee replying to the confessor's declaration of love?

YOU'RE NOT FOLLOWING THE RULES, ASS.

"_Rules? What rules?"_

THE CONFESSEE/CONFESSOR RULES. YOU HAVE TO REPLY TO MY FEELINGS, ASS-TARD.

"_PFFFFT. Okay. I'm right outside. Is your door unlocked?"_

Kyle frowned at his phone. How was Stan already outside? Hadn't he just told Kyle he was in love with some chick? Kyle shrugged, deciding to deal with it later. Besides, there was no point depressing himself by thinking of some balloon-breasted bimbo stealing his Stan.

YEAH, IT'S UNLOCKED. COME ON IN.

And not two seconds later, a smiling Stan Marsh opened the door and walked into Kyle's room. Stan's wavy black hair hung in his eyes, and his skin had gotten tan from doing "God's work" at the retreat (if one asked Stan, they were doing "A whole lot of bullshit. Why the hell can't God cut his own wood?").

Kyle smiled back, pushing his own red haired curls out of his face; he sat up and crossed his legs.

"Hey, sexy," Kyle greeted.

"You know, you're not very nervous for a guy who's waiting for the love of his life to reply to his, albeit lacking in romance, confession."

"You know that is the most romantic I've ever been, ass."

"You had me at ass!" Stan declared dramatically, then flopped on the bed beside Kyle, throwing his bag to the side.

"How was Circus Catholica?" Kyle asked, lying back down next to Stan.

"Torture. God is a lazy fuck," Stan groaned.

"Cool. Now tell me about this girl."

Stan suddenly laughed boisterously. Kyle looked at the brunet strangely. He expected blushing, or stammering, or something that showed Stan loved this girl. Was there some irony Kyle wasn't understanding?

"…Are you okay?" Kyle asked once Stan calmed down.

"Dude, that girl never existed. It was an all-guy retreat. I only went with my dad, my uncle Jimbo, and Ned."

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed.

"What?"

"I was lying. I kept dropping hints, but you never showed me how you felt. So, I decided to use this trip to see if I could make you jealous. I didn't expect a love confession."

Kyle stared.

"So…?"

"So, I love you, too, fag. Now c'mon."

Kyle grinned and sat up. "What're we doing?"

"We're gonna look up Kenny's fetish list and see what we're doing tonight. You've been a virgin way too long."

Kyle smirked and kissed his _boy_friend. "Sounds good."

"Oh, by the way, Kyle?"

Kyle stood up and turned, looking at Stan. Stan smiled and stood, wrapping his arms around Kyle's waist.

"Yeah?"

"I call top!" And Stan slammed the room door shut.


End file.
